


Fireworks

by Ekimsal



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Beach Holidays, Gen, M/M, Marco Bott/Jean Kirstein-centric, Modern AU, POV Marco Bott, Summer Love, Young Love, beach au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-17 01:22:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1368769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ekimsal/pseuds/Ekimsal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco lives in a sleepy beach town and spends every summer working at his family's restaurant, each day blending into the next. But things begin to change when he meets the cute boy who's family has rented a beach house for the summer.<br/>Fireworks is a story of passion, young love, and what happens after the spark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There’s a special smell to summer. Salt water breeze and vinegar french fries, fresh cut grass and the gunpowder from fireworks. And there’s always an undercurrent of hope. Honestly, I have no idea where it comes from, probably from the cheesy romantic comedies that flood the theaters this time of year. Maybe it’s from the sense of freedom from having no classes to worry about. Who knows. But there’s always some sort of idea that this is going to be that summer; the one with a road trip and romance and adventures where you just spend the whole time wondering “how is this even real?”, as if life is a beautiful dream and you never want to wake up.

Unless you’re me. I’ve lived in Ocean Bluffs my whole life, it’s a tiny little beach town. And my parents own a diner, Bodt’s Burgers, and it’s their whole life. When you spend twenty years somewhere with a tourist season, Summer becomes a grind because when you’re not bussing or waiting tables, you’re standing over a hot grill. Not that I’m complaining. I love my family, and it keeps me busy, but there are times when I wake up and I’m not sure what day it is, and it doesn’t really matter because it’s going to be spent at the diner anyway. Not that I’d complain. Just sometimes I’d like to actually enjoy the beach or even just goof off. Have my own little romance, stay up late and watch the stars, lips meeting a cute guy’s under the moonlight.

I was brought back to earth by the light jingle of the bells we hang over the door. It was that lull between the lunch and dinner crowds, but every now and again you get the people who just arrived in town and are starving after the drive and sitting hours in traffic just before the bridge. Customer mode, show time. “Hi there! Welcome to Bodt’s Burgers, my name is Marco, can I start you with some drinks?” It was my perfected peppy tone that I use on customers, once you’ve said something hundreds of times you can manage to make it sound genuine and interested no matter what.

It was a family of three, a middle aged couple, and who I assumed was their son. They gave off that vibe of money that you get off some people. The woman was dressed in some upscale brand’s vacation line of clothing, the type people wear when they’re trying to yell “I can relax, watch me!” but they’ll die if they lost their phone for so much as five minutes. Dad wore chino shorts and a polo shirt, and had heavy bags under his eyes. The son just sort of slouched in the red vinyl booth, looking like he could care less about, well, anything.

Dad had his nose buried into the menu, mom was on her cell, the son just stared at the ceiling. So I just smiled. And waited. Drinks. C’mon people, pick one. Soda or water, it’s not rocket science. The woman broke the silence, “One water, extra ice, he’ll have a Heineken, and a Pepsi.”

Her voice was clipped and authoritative. The type of person who doesn't waste words, trained in board meetings to steer a conversation as easily as a car. "Jesus, mom, I'm nineteen years old, let me order my damn drink. Coffee please".

"Jean, Language," his mother snapped. "And it's eighty degrees outside, why would you want coffee?"

"And a water", he replied, with a sarcastic eyeroll.

His voice was deeper than I expected. Rich, like a dark chocolate. Jean.  _Jean._ French? Not John. They didn't have an accent, maybe it was a family name? He had the look of calculated rebellion, the type you see in suburban kids whose parents have money and they're just looking to piss them off. An undercut, it fit him, made his hair look like it was two toned, and he wore a small earring in his upper ear. Black t-shirt, pale skin. He was cute. Little premature furrow in his brow, it accented a face made of sharp features. And wow. Eyes. They were just. I don't even know. Light brown and almost golden, like a dark honey. A little on the skinny side, but cute. There was the sound of nails tapping on the table, and the woman was staring at me over her wire rimmed glasses. Shit. What was I doing? Drinks? Was I staring? Did she pick up that I was eye banging her son?

"Haha, sorry. You ever just have one of those days? Brain just goes BLURGH! I'll be right back with your drinks!" Her lips pursed, and she buried her face in the menu.

Not a family of talkers. You see that here a lot. People who barely talk, married to their jobs instead of one another, don't even know their own family. So they think that all they need is a vacation, get away from the "real world" and all the commitments and everything magically fixes itself. Except these types of people never truly leave the office; the rental house HAS to have a fax, and high speed internet because we can't POSSIBLY miss the teleconference with the Hong Kong branch, and are we in a spot without wi-fi? What is this 1993? I've hear all of that and more over the years. Guess that I'm lucky in that way. When you work with your family, you can't really afford to drift apart, and you find little ways to make it fun and get everyone involved. With me waiting tables, mom on cash register and dad working the grill, we even had my little sister, Laney, set up in a little corner booth where she could spend the day coloring.

Drinks on the table, no one except Jean bothered to say thank you, though I got a nod from the father. You can tell a lot about a person by what they ordered. Mrs Powerwoman had fried crab cakes and a salad, but please hold this, and have the that on the side and some extra of the thing and JUST a sprinkling of the whatsit. Dad had to have his name said twice before he even ordered, took a sip of his beer, and ordered the steak sandwich. Jean wasn't hungry.

I busied myself while the orders were cooking, filling ketchup bottles, wiping tables, and stealing glances at the family when I could. There was something about him, I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Something made me want to learn everything about him. I wondered what his favorite color was, if he liked to read. The little things that made a person real and not just some vague idea.

"Order up!"

"Ok everyone! We've got the steak sandwich for you, sir! Extra peppers, white cheddar, and a side of seasoned fries. Ma'am, I have your crabcakes, and a house salad, vinaigrette dressing, extra onion, light on cucumber and a twist of lemon. Would you like another cup of coffee sir?"

He nodded, holding out his cup. "This isn't what I ordered", shit, if there was one order I screwed up, it had to be hers.

"I'm sorry?" I hoped I was using my best 'the customer is always right' smiles.

"No onion, extra cucumber. I just _assumed_ that since you have that little notebook, you may actually write down the order properly."

_The customer is a bag of dicks._

"I apologize ma'am, I'll have that fixed in a sec", keep smiling, just keep smiling.

"I would hope so, do try better this time"

_Screaming. Internally._

I left them alone for the rest of the meal, checking in now and again to see if they needed drinks. You think you're used to rude people. You'd think that after years of doing this, that I'd be numb to people who felt that servers were beneath them. It still grinds me though. It just REALLY says something about someone when they feel they can act that way and it's a non-issue. So I busied myself, wiping the counters, and when it was time for them to pay I gave them my best smile and wished them a nice day. It's when I was cleaning the table I noticed the tip. A dollar. In quarters. Bitch.

"Yea, mom, I'll be right out, I just want to use the bathroom", It was Jean. "Hey look, I'm really sorry about that. My mom, I mean. She's kind of wound tight to begin with, and with the long drive... Look, it wasn't right. The tip. So here"

He shoved a crumpled five dollar bill into my hand, gave me this awkward smile, and walked out the door. I just stood there, stunned. I'd been stiffed on tips, but no one had done something like this before. Good thing I was getting off shift too, because it just put me into a daze. I took off my apron and stretched; it was my night to work the late night shift, and unless I wanted to be a zombie, a nap was in order.

 

\---

  
Night shifts are always slow.  You get a little bit of a crowd when the bars let out, but on a Tuesday, there was almost no point in being open. The bells jingled, and out of the corner of my eye I saw someone sit down. "Just coffee".

It was Jean.


	2. Chapter 2

"Just coffee".

I froze. Ok. No big deal. It's just me, and the cute boy. No one else. Ok, the kid working here for the summer that's on the grill. But she doesn't count. Play it cool, Bodt.

"Oh, hey!" Shit, was I overeager? "Coffee guy, from earlier. I remember you!"

He flashed me a grin and gave a sort of half-chuckle. Just, how, how can a person have a smile like that and not be illegal?

"Ha, yea... Marco right?" My heart skipped a beat. He remembered me. "So it's always this dead?" He sounded nonchalant. What does that even mean? Can a person be chalant?

"Oh, well. You know. It's a Tuesday, and 11:00. Probably no point actually being open this late on weeknights, but sometimes we get a few  people so dad likes to stay open", I was taken aback that he was curious about me.

"Dad?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Well, my family kind of owns the place. It's their baby".  

"So you do this all year?"

Great. This cute guy, and for God know what reason, he's actually interested in and asking questions about me and I just made him think that I spend all my time as a freaking burger slinger.

"Oh no, just the tourist season. I go to the community college, just transfer credits. Hopefully I'll be transferring to Trost University in the fall", I gave a small chuckle, play it cool Bodt.

"Must be nice, having the ocean right there", Jean stared out the window and the fluorescent lights caught his eye and it was just the most beautiful shade of amber.

Keep the mood light Marco. Maybe a joke?

"Well yea, except the three months out of the year when there's no school tourists hit the place like locusts" 

Jean's eyebrows rose, "Bastards", the word stabbing in mock anger.

Cute and a sense of humor. Take me now. Please.

"Oh yea, you know how people like that are"

Jean laughed. It was so rich and delicious, like a dark chocolate and I just wanted to take it all in.

"So how long are you here for?"

"My parents rented a place right up until the end of August. They said we need to 'get away from it all'. Ha". You could taste the sarcasm in his voice.

"You'll like Ocean Bluffs. It's a cool little town, all types of places to see and hang out if you look hard. So what brings you out here so late?

Jean stared. "You've met my parents".

Ah. There it was.

"I mean, ok, they're not the worst. And I swear, my mom's not some monster who's horrible 24/7. But her standards are so damn high, and half the time if feels like things just aren't good enough. I get why she is the way she is, glass ceilings and being a corporate attorney. But she just never leaves work mode and just comes off like a shark in a power suit. Meanwhile my dad's in finance and he's just so stressed and burnt out that when he's not working he's in a martini and nerve pill haze. So they rent this house to get away from work, but they'll never be able to actually do that", it was like a pot boiling over.

It was hard to keep my eyes anywhere about the table. Like I said before, when you work with your family, it's really hard for there to be any friction. You don't want. Of course there are fights, and there are the little arguments. That's every family. But you don't get years of tension built up; at worst, you swear, bang some pans washing up, and then deal with it.

Poor guy, his face was resting in his hands, clearly his family wasn't a comfortable subject. "So are you in school?" 

"Trost U. Just finished my first year"

TROST UNIVERSITY. Well then, there's the motivation to get all those credits and transfer out!

I played it cool. "Really? What are you studying?"

"Well, I'm doing Criminal Justice. I always thought it would be cool to be a cop, go after bad guys and all that, you know? My mom was _thrilled_ of course. She wanted me to do business or accounting, be safe behind a desk all day. It'd drive me fucking nuts," he hung his head and shook with a laugh.

A cop. It fit. And I had to admit, the idea of the guy dressed in dark blue with a shiny badge on his chest, well I wasn't going to complain about that. It's a weird job though and makes you wonder a lot about the people who got into it. There were the types of people that got off on power and authority, the type who were probably bullies when they were younger and wanted to extend through the rest of their life until retirement. But on the other hand, there were the people who wanted to try to protect the weak and help people. A white knight with an undercut.

"You said you wanted to transfer to Trost. Anything in particular you're planning on?"

"Well. I'm actually leaning towards Elementary Education. See, my mom had my little sister when I was about 15, so I ended up watching her a lot so that mom could be here at the restaurant. I love kids. Everything's so new and exciting to them, and if I could be that one teacher that made it so they never lose that way of seeing the world, well I don't think that there's anything in the world better than that."

We talked until I had to close, and he flashed me that illegal smile as he waved and walked out the door. Wiping down the tables and washing up, I noticed that the coffee pot was still sitting on a table, cold and untouched.

\--- 

Jean quickly became a regular, and the highlight of my day. Every day he would sit down in a corner booth, and order coffee. Just coffee. If it were slow, and he always seemed to come in on slow nights or in between the lunch and dinner rushes, we'd chat. He'd tell me how I'd love Trost, how it you never really had pizza until you've gone to Bozado's. About the parties, how the the campus looked like it was straight out of some old city in Holland or Belgium, and that it was this amazing bubble where that the bullshit from the rest of the world just couldn't pop. I told him about Ocean Bluffs, the real town and not the touristy bit. How the locals all knew one another, and the carnivals that we'd throw in the off seasons. The winter one was my favorite, usually there would be fresh snow, everyone bundled up and laughing and drinking hot chocolate, more than a few people adding some whiskey to their cup, the whole town sparkling like diamonds.

Just coffee.

Little by little he told me more about himself. It was like putting together a puzzle. A really REALLY cute puzzle.

There was the scar on his arm from when he fell out of a tree as a child. How when he laughed, he normally hung his head a little bit like he was trying to hide something. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he would smile. For some reason I wanted to know everything and anything about Jean Kirschtein.

One late afternoon he was in his normal booth, and I'd had the coffee already poured for him before he even asked. Jean smiled. "Hey Marco. How's it going?"

I couldn't help but smile, when he asked it genuinely felt like he wanted to know what was going on. "Oh, just the usual exciting fast paced life of a waiter".

He smiled and took a sip of his coffee, which he always drank black. I didn't get it, how did someone drink that much coffee and still have teeth so perfectly white? How does that even work?

"You know, one of these days, I'm gonna make you try some of the actual food"

"But what about my girlish figure?" He batted his eyelashes at me.

I snorted, and could feel my face turning red. Kill me now, I actually snort-laughed. GOLD STAR FOR MOST ATTRACTIVE BOY, ME RIGHT HERE.

The little shit. "Back in a minute", I smacked him on back of the head with my notepad.

"Hey Dad, we got an order , table five".

"Table five? Coffee boy's actually eating something?"

I nodded as I handed over the order ticket, and busied myself wiping the tables and a few other things that I'd been too distracted to keep up with lately.

"Order up!"

Dropping the plate on the table with a light clang, "Eat up, twig boy".

Confused, "But I didn't---"

"You think I'm gonna let you come here every day and not try any of the food? I mean, I make a mean cup of coffee and all, but come on".

Jean just kept staring at the food, a strawberry milkshake and a plate of fries. "Well damn, thanks! But I don't think there's any way that I'm going to be able to eat all of this on my own", he motioned for me to sit across from him.

"So tell me", he began as he sprayed some vinegar on the fries and poured ketchup on the plate, "what's fun in this town?"

Was he asking me out? "Well, I actually have tomorrow off, you wanna hang out?"

Jean flashed that killer grin as he slouched in the booth, "It's a date".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to the amazing Lownly for the name "Trost University". If you haven't read "Like a Drum", do it. Now. Credit to the idea of cop!Jean to Butterflychansan, because I can't picture him doing anything else now. You should also go read Wisteria and Forget-Me-Not! I want to thank the people who have been reading, this is the first thing that I've ever put up for anyone else to see. I'm going to try to update more frequently, but sometimes life just gets in the way.


	3. Chapter 3

Those amber eyes and that smirk, but his fingers shaking just a little as they unbuttoned my shirt. Jean moved, stubble grazing my cheek as he whispered into my ear. "I've wanted this for a long time", that smooth voice making me melt.

How was this happening? How was this real? This beautiful man focused on me like I'm the only thing in the world. Jean continued to undress me slowly, hands roaming like animals, exploring, cupping, grabbing. Lost for words, I just stood there, trying to freeze time so I could live in this moment forever. Kisses started on the forehead and traced downwards, biting ears, tracing my chest, as Jean continued to venture lower and lower. "Those freckles,"  barely murmuring, "lets play connect the dots." He traced his tongue across my chest, pausing on the nipples, moving in slow circles as I squirmed with pleasure. 

I was already straining the buttons of my jeans when his hands roamed to my waist, one hand cupping my ass as the fingers of the other traced the outline of what was probably the most intense erection I'd ever had in my life "Boxers or briefs, Mr Bodt? Let's find out", his tone was killing me. "Well, well. Briefs, and red too. I would have never guessed that the freckled angel would sport sexy undies." Dear God, am I blushing? I feel my whole face turning red.

Kisses traveled south. Slowly, fingers crept below my waistband and I found a low moan escaping. Those sharp eyes flashed up to me as his hands grasped my dick. Stubble grazing my inner thigh, eyes tight I arched my back in ecstasy, and couldn't help but peek as he traced his tongue across my balls and up the length of my shaft. Eyes locked, Jean winked, gave the underside of my head a soft kiss and proceeded to envelope it in his lips. Moans became louder as slowly, rhythmically  he bobbed up and down on me, tongue swirling and eyes shut in concentration. I wanted to freeze time, and never leave this moment.

"Je- Jean, please, slow down, I- I'm gonna come if you keep up this pace."

Jean smacked his lips, and stretched up to kiss me. "Don't worry baby, that's just the preview", he flashed that devil's grin as a hand grasped my ass. "Yea, lemme see that big beautiful freckled ass."

I'm on my back, and blushing as he flips me over and slaps my ass. "Look at that, jiggles like Jello and just as tasty." Groaning again, I arched my back and I could feel him slowly putting a finger inside me, exploring. Soon there was another, and it was more than I could take. I wanted him. I wanted all of him, rutting against his hand was making me lose my fucking mind. "Flip over. I wanna see those freckles, I want to see you beg."

I don't know how I could make it more clear what I wanted, at this point I was practically whining. "Fuck me. Take that horse cock and just fuck me until I scream!"

There was that grin again, we were grinding dick to dick, his quivering equine member pressed against mine, catching breaths between fiery kisses. "I want you so bad Jean, I want you inside me, I want you to just fuck me until I break!"

I felt him exploring, dick pushed up against me, and I let out a sharp gasp as he slowly entered me. Still kissing, I never wanted to let him go. Jean kept a strong slow pace, pushing deeper with every single thrust. "Harder baby, harder and faster!" I whispered.

"You want that?" he bit out the words as his balls slapped against my ass.

Those strong hands pinned my shoulders against the bed as he began to move faster and faster. This was ecstasy. I was in heaven. Arms flexed as he lifted me up, still inside me. "Wanna see you ride me", the words were a harsh grunt.

"UNGH. YES, right there!"

Jean and I moved together as one, thrusting and grinding, his kisses urgent and fiery. Eyes tightly shut in ecstasy, his body glistening with sweat like a spray of diamonds. I rode him like the stallion he is, bucking to meet his hips. "Je-Jean!"

He rose up, still thrusting, holding my shoulders so that we were eye to eye, rubbing his face in the crook of my neck, trails of kisses across my face. Yes, YES, just wave after wave, cresting and crashing pleasure. "Yea, you like that?" He practically bit the words as spoke them. "Say you like it! I wanna hear you SCREAM."

"UNGH! Yes, YES! Keep going, keep goi-"

\---

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP.

No. No fucking fair. I'm in bed, alone. And sticky. Fuck me.

\---

Never fall in love with a tourist, the cardinal rule of dating when you live in a beach town. When you date a tourist, you're living on borrowed time, three months at most. And it's never enough. Sad goodbyes, promises to keep in touch, that you'll skype every night and you know what maybe long-distance can work. It never does. And then you spend weeks or even month having your heart slowly tear in half while you try to hold onto the boy of your dreams and watch him slowly slip away like sand through your fingers. Never fall in love with tourist.

\---

How do you get someone out of your head when you're supposed to be spending the day with them in a few short hours? Snap out of it Bodt, you know this is stupid, you know this can't happen.  It can only lead to heartbreak.

Walking next to Jean was both torture and exhilarating. There was something about him that just drew me in like a magnet. I breathed in every single detail; the half grin when he spoke, the hands jammed into pockets, the way he tried so hard to look cool and composed, but then would have his arms flailing in the air because he tripped on a crack in the sidewalk. Fucking dork.

"So where we going today? You said you were gonna show me a good time." And there was the flash of that illegal grin.

I could feel warmth spreading across my face. Jesus Fucking Christ. Am I blushing? Please don't tell me I'm blushing. "Well," grinning and trying to play it cool, "it's a long and hard trip, but totally worth it."

Jean tripped for a moment, recovered, and red faced mumbled something about a crack in the sidewalk.

I'd settled on taking Jean to the pier. It's always been a favorite spot, and one of the few areas in town that's a mix of tourists and locals. Plus there was an arcade, and junk food, which is always a plus.

It was amazing to watch those honey colored eyes, wide and taking everything in, flashing lights, tinny music, all the smells. "Dude, this is so fuckin' coo- hey, popsicles!"

"Really? Your first reaction is 'popsicles'? Dork."

"Shut the fuck up. One orange one, thanks!", he handed a few crumpled bills to a man behind the cart.

So we sat on the benches, listening to the mania of the pier and the waves crashing, and Jean was in ecstasy with his popsicle. Eyes closed, he slowly traced his tongue up the side, before taking the whole thing into his mouth. My eyes must have been wide as dinner plates. The frozen treat bobbed in and out, he had to be doing this on purpose. Tongue swirling, he wasn't content until the whole thing was completely finished, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. It was a good thing I wasn't standing or I'd have fallen over, there was no way there was any blood left in m y body to go to my head.

Content, we meandered through the arcade. Ski-ball and ancient video games, it was a retro heaven, LED lights casting rainbows of color on the wood walls in the dark. "No way!" He ran over to an air hockey table that was older than we were. "C'mon Bodt, your ass is mine."

"You're gonna eat those words Kirschtein!"

 Quarters made a light metallic clink and the machine whirred to life as the puck fell with a plastic clunk. Jean and I locked eyes as I traced my fingers in between the cool jets of air on the table. "Flip for start? Heads!" Jean frowned, tails. 

"Wahaha", trying my best to laugh in a mock evil tone, "you're going down, pony boy!"

The puck shot past him, as he froze wide-eyed "Pony boy? The fuck, man?!"

"Uhuh, I saw that belt buckle you have on!"

See, I grew up on this pier. I know this pier. And this air hockey table? It was my turf. Saturday morning, right after cartoons, my friends and I would ride our bikes to this arcade. Had an argument? It was settled by air hockey.

Now I had him riled up. Jean was determined not to let anything else get past him, and we both threw ourselves completely into the game. Arm veins bulging as beads of sweat made their way down our faces. Push and pull, every action having a reaction. Thrust. Push. Score.

"No way Bodt, uhuh, not happening! Gonna beat that freckled ass!"

"You know," I was grunting, "if you put, UNGH, as much thought into the game as you do my ass, you might be winning!"

A buzz and a clack of the puck slamming, the game was over. Sorry, Mr Kirschtein. You may be cute, but this is my house. "No fair, I'm pretty sure this game is busted!"

"Uhuh, sure. C'mon, pony boy."

Jean Kirschtein is the world's worst loser, and somehow it just added to all the charm. He eventually uncrossed his arms and stopped scowling after I bought some french fries.

"The hell are you doing to those fries?!" His eyes were wide in horror as I held the fries and a spray bottle of vinegar.

"...you never had fries with vinegar?"

"No way!" His nose was wrinkling. "Nasty!"

"Jean, shut the fuck up and eat a damn french fry."

 

Taking a fry and making a dramatic face, Jean closed his eyes tight and chomped it. "Ok... not exactly horrible."

The setting sun cast a golden light across the beach and onto the ocean, as we walked in the sand, laughing, telling jokes and bumping shoulders. Eventually, we made our way under the pier, the sound of the surf in our ears.

"Hey Marco? I just wanted to say thanks."

He's so god damn pretty.

"I mean, I know how I come off and I just, you know, I don't have a lot of friends."

Your eyes are like honey.

"And I know we just met, but umm..."

He was rubbing the back of his head, his bicep flexing, and he was blushing. Jean Kirschtein was blushing.

"I mean, what I'm TRYING to say is..." his voice trailed off as our eyes locked.

"Jean, you really need to know when to shut up."

And those narrow eyes went wide as I pressed my lips against his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, that was rough to write. First attempt at smut and since it's all in Marco's mind I'm going to write it off and say he's a massive cheeseball. Yea. That's the reason the dialogue in the first half was fucking velveeta. I have a tumblr, ekimsal.tumblr.com if anyone's interested in harassing me to update more frequently, and seeing angry posts about work and too much fandom junk. Again, I'm going to try to keep updating this and MAYBE try to get it into a series but writers block just fucking sucks.


	4. Chapter 4

A small eternity. That's what it felt like. That it had lasted forever, that the seas had risen and empires had fallen and that we were locked together and never, ever leaving each other. His eyes, those beautiful honey eyes, were wide with surprise. I could taste him, and he tasted like summer and popsicles and home; and those gorgeous eyes shut, in the kiss that never ended

It took a moment, and I pulled myself away. "Jesus, I'm sorry, I'm just so sorry and I don't know why or-  
I was stumbling, falling over myself and my own words as I scrambled to try to find a reason, ANY reason to explain the kiss. Fuck, I didn't even know if he was gay. I hadn't even known him that long, but something about him just felt RIGHT.

Jean didn't say a single word. Just staring, like a confused puppy,

"I'm just. You were. And it felt. Shit." English. Speaking. Why the fuck was it suddenly impossible.

"Sorry", he mumbled, "I gotta...", and he just walked away and let the words fall.

Fuck. Way to go Bodt. I mean, did he give any signals? Had I reached that level of loneliness where my brain was more than willing to try to make something out of nothing? Shit. I just torpedoed what could have been a great friendship, and all because I'm nothing but a horny loser.

\---

Night's always been my time for reflection. I like night. It's quiet. Clean.

I was wrapped up in my comforter like a caterpillar in a cocoon. I wasn't cold; it was early June. I just needed to feel something wrapped around me.

My phone sat at the edge of my bed. Cold, silent, mocking me. Jean had given me his number. Why not? We were bros. He'd text me when his parents were driving him nuts, or I'd send him lame jokes. And it sounds stupid to have grown so attached to someone so fast, but here we are. Me sitting in bed like a sad little burrito, lonely because someone I hadn't even known a full month hadn't texted.

I don't know why I was surprised.

Why the hell had I kissed him.

God, it's like every other time I'd gotten a stupid crush, but at least most of those times I hadn't been stupid enough to act on them. I mean, ok, there was Thomas. But that just never seemed whole. We tried, but the entire time we both knew that there was something eating away at us saying something wasn't right. But it's a small town, and finding a local who's gay and not a retiree? Not a numbers game that's working in my favor. So we did all the 'cute couple' stuff. And outwardly, our friends thought we were perfect, my mom loved him, my dad offered him a job at the diner. But there was no spark. Or if there was, it fizzled fast and not even a whole year later we both knew that it was just... over.

Maybe it's me.

I mean, I'm a waiter at a burger place. Not the most thrilling biography.

Lived my whole life in this town. Not sure if I'll ever get out. Sure, the idea of transferring and being a teacher is nice. But there's this voice in the back of my head, not too loud, but it's there. And it points out how I'll never be able to really leave Ocean Bluffs, or my parents, or the diner, or my sister. And I'll be single and never marry because no one moves to this town for more than 3 months at a time until they're almost in their seventies. And I'll be here. Flipping burgers and waiting on tables.

And it's probably right.

\---

The next day was overcast. Fitting.

I wasn't supposed to be in to work until eleven, then take a nap and come back in for the night shift.

Fine by me. This was going to be one of those days where you just put off the whole idea of pants for the longest time possible.

Eventually, I pulled myself together and made my way to the diner; the bells tinkling as I walked in.

"Hey honey!" Mom was always so upbeat, and her thick accent, a dead give away that she'd grown up in New Jersey, curled her syllables.

"Little slow today, but what with the rain? Who's surprised."

I tried to smile. Something. Pretend everything was normal.

"What's the matter? Where's my Marco-Sunshine?"

"I'm fine mom. Just a bit tired."

"You're not getting sick or anything, are you? Come here, lemme see your eyes."

"I'm good mom, I was just up late reading."

I love my mom. I really do. And her and dad always made me feel loved. You hear stories about kids that grew up with nannies or in daycare or their parents never hugged them. It's just so unfathomable to me. And I'm aware that I'm lucky, that they were always here for me and never ever in my life made me doubt their love.  They're my rocks. And I never want to worry them. "So I guess I'll start some cleaning then?", as I tried to pull a smile.

"Why don't you go start some fresh coffee?"  
Coffee. Jean. Why.

 So you go on auto mode. And you put on your best customer-service smile and you do what you can and make a list of all the things that need to be done and check them off one by one.

And the pathetic thing is that the whole time I kept glancing, just out of the corner of my eye, to the corner booth he seemed partial to.

He never came in.

\---

Night came, and I was at the diner again. Ymir, a girl who I'd graduated high school with, was working the grill that night.

She was tall, freckled, and filled with snark. She was the complete opposite of her girlfriend, Krista, who was so small and seemed like she was made out of porcelain. They complimented each other; like chocolate and peanut butter.

We'd been steady the whole night, but we usually managed to chat while I rolled forks into napkins. Multitasking, it's a hell of a skill.

"So what's eating you, freckles?"

"Nothing's eating me"

"Uh huh. Sure. Where's coffee douche?" Ymir was leaning on the counter, stifling a yawn.

"Wuh?"

"The coffee drinking douchebag that you're always eyebanging"

I could feel the blush rising to my face, my ears must have been scarlet.

"I- I never. I have no idea what you're talking about!"

"Honey, please. I've known you since middle school and can read you like a damn book." Dammit. She was right

I don't know if I actually said any words or just mumbled barely human noises, keeping my eyes on the floor. but I heard her slap her knee and start cackling.

"You Didn't! A tourist? And COFFEE DOUCHE?!" Ymir laughed again, unable to control herself.

"Shut up, Ymir."

"I mean, go Marco! You do you, bud. Get some!"

"We didn't have sex", please if there was a merciful God, I'd be struck by lightning right now.

"Ok, yea, but you want to!" The smirk on her face was horrifying, teeth flashing like the Cheshire Cat.

"...shut up." 

"But why him? He gives off SUCH a douche vibe!"

Sighing and exasperated, "Ymir you're really not helping and I don't see how you can call someone that when you've never even really known them."

Ymir crossed her arms and looked serious. "Never ate a damn thing i cooked for him. And I offered. He's a douche."

"Well... Maybe he's not hungry at night. And I think I got him to have fries. And one of dad's burgers."

"It's not an Ymir special though", Ymir was very proud of her cooking.

It was pretty quiet the rest of the night. Jean never came in.

"Ok. Fine. He might be a bit of a douche."

Ymir was scraping the grill while I was doing the last of the dishes.

"So we're closing in a half hour, yea?

I nodded.

"And tomorrow's your day off?"

"You know that."

"Marco baby, let's get tanked."

\---

Ymir and Krista's apartment was small, just outside of the main part of town. I held on for dear life in her rickety truck the whole ride over while she blasted AC/DC.

"So I haven't seen Krista in a bit"

"She went over to the city for the summer. Nursing Clinicals. Said that the hospital in Jinae was better for learning, more exciting," she twisted top off a bottle of Jack Daniels, pouring two shots .

We clinked our glasses together, and the warm taste of the whiskey put a jolt through my body.

"Doesn't the distance hurt?"

"Well yea. But we trust each other. And it's good for her in the long run."

"But you haven't even been together long. How can you know that?

Shot.

"Sometimes you just know." Ymir sat down on the floor next to me, stretched her arms over her head, and took another shot. "So the douche? Really?"

"I just really don't meet a lot of people. Not anyone who stands out like that. And there was this spark. And we clicked. And it just felt... right."

Shot.

"And the problem?"

"Well he's a tourist! There's an expiration date! I mean, he goes to Trost and I'd been throwing around the idea of transferring..."

"And the problem?"

Shot.

The liquor had been loosening my tongue, but I couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Marco, you can do so much. Anything you want to. But you hold yourself back."

And the shots continued. And there was laughing and dancing, and bad youtube karaoke. Her neighbors must hate us. Ymir was already stretched out on her couch

Fuck it

I grabbed my phone, and scrolled to the J's. It didn't ring long before I heard a confused yawn on the other end.

"M-marco? The fuck dude, it's 3AM."

"Jean Kirschtein, I got one question for you. And you're gonna listen to me. Do I think you're hot?!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh God. I'm so so SO sorry it took so long for an update. Real life's been happening, and I've been struggling trying to figure out how to steer and pace this and I'm SO SORRY.


End file.
